


march 10 2290

by tsonis



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Multi, Other, inappropriate deathclaw antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsonis/pseuds/tsonis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston's birthday is coming up and he think's he's the only one who remembers. Until he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	march 10 2290

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyriumveins (Zelos)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lyriumveins+%28Zelos%29).



> there is mention of morphine use to treat a broken arm as well as a general cw for food. 
> 
> huge hug + smooch goes to jamie and kathleen for beta-ing this big mess and ignoring the fact this is sheer procrastination. this is dedicated to them, and of us to zara. zara, wherever you are i hope you are happy and loving life. love you a lot to the moon and back.
> 
> prompt: Gonna autofill but maybe someone else wants to take a gander? Companion's birthday, NPC's birthday, whoever you want has a birthday. How do they/she/he celebrate? Fancy cake and presents? Infinite Nuka Cola bottles? Crazy party? Or just quiet birthday smut? It's up to you.
> 
> I'd prefer if everything was consensual but I'm letting this be open to anyone. Just know that if it has squicks on my end I'm not gonna read it but don't fret probably someone else will.

Even before he had joined the Minutemen, there wasn’t really much time to remember a birthday let along celebrate one. No one could afford the luxury out in the wastes; supplies were scarce, and throwing a party was as unappealing as dumping out the remaining fresh water one had.

Preston remembered his birthdays though, whether it be sentimentality passed to him by his mother or a small, vindictive part of him counting each year he remained on the scorched earth while his friends and family were nothing but calcified bones picked clean by scavengers and animals alike. In fact, it was easier than ever to keep track of his birthdays now that he traveled with the General as the Pip-Boy cheerily displayed the current date in neon green text.

March 3 2290. His birthday would be next week. Staring into his beans as if they held the truth, Preston mulled over the idea of saying anything about it. He hadn’t really said anything the past two years as they had been too busy rebuilding the Minutemen and trying to stop the many dangers lurking in the Commonwealth.

“Hey,” the General nudged him with the tip of their weather-worn boot. “You seem distracted, something up?”

“I was just thinking about how lucky we are to be out here.”

The General snorted at that and narrowed their eyes over a can of Pork ‘n Beans. “I mean it is no pre-bomb utopia, but it could be worse. Every day we escape the very high mortality rate that is yet another perk of post-nuclear America.”

Preston rolled his eyes and tugged the brim of his hat lower to block out the harsh light of their campfire. “You know what I mean. We are lucky to be making a difference in the lives of people who really need it. Not everyone can say that.”

He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light or if the General’s eyes softened at that. “Yeah I guess you are right. Now eat those beans before the molerats are drawn to the scent and we get eaten in our sleep.”

\--

In the dim light of morning, his eyes cracked open to where the General was perched on a rusted park bench, fingers dancing over the screen of their Pip-Boy with an ease Preston marveled at. He never really was good at technology, and seeing the General flip through the device made him yearn to learn. Maybe he’d ask that for a birthday gift.

“C’mon, you silly little block. Just fit in the damn position and we can all be friends,” they muttered. 

“Tetris again?” Preston asked, wincing at the sleep-roughness in his voice. The General squawked in surprise and tipped backwards, barely flailing their limbs in time to avoid falling onto the dirty pavement below.

““Yes, Preston,” the General snarked. “Scare me like that again and you can explain that the mighty General died because of a fear-induced heart attack.” They slipped onto the rotted wood of the bench seat. 

Preston’s jaw ticked minutely at the thought of losing another person he loved. The General caught onto the tension in the air and rose to their feet. “I didn’t mean it like that, but it wasn’t right of me to say that.” 

“It’s fine, just a pretty sensitive topic to joke about.” Preston shrugged, carefully packing his bedroll. 

“You shouldn’t make excuses for my horrible and thoughtless behaviour, Preston.” 

Preston could practically hear the General’s mind grasping at ways to apologise, and his already dampened mood soured more. “Look, let’s just get on the road and find that part Sturges needs for the generator.”

“Right.” As he stood, he avoided the General’s obvious attempts to catch his eye. “We still have to go about twenty miles west and we’ll reach that plant that should have the part.”

“Lead the way.”

\--

After they had returned to The Castle, generator part and multiple new injuries in tow, Curie had just clucked her tongue and ushered the two of them to the makeshift med bay. 

“Every time you two travel together you always come back injured, she harrumphed. "I am starting to think when you travel together you attract bad luck."

“It’s just because I need to see your beautiful face,” the General crowed, pupils swallowing their iris as Curie fussed with their morphine drip.

“How did they even manage to break their arm?” 

Preston shrugged, jostling a very surly looking nurse from where he was patching up his shoulder. “They tried to arm wrestle a deathclaw they thought was tame.”

Curie let out a string of expletives Preston never thought she had in her, causing the even blissed-out General to gasp in surprise. “Preston, she swore like…. At least fiveteen times. That's, like, 50 caps.”

“General, if you so much as move an inch from this bed I will have you strapped down to it until I say you can get up.”

“Kinky, Curie. Just how I like it.” The General winked in Preston’s general direction before promptly passing out.

\--

It was almost a week since the incident surrounding his campfire internal monologue that Cait had strolled into his room and plopped down on his chair. 

“By all means, make yourself at home.”

“I would, but I’m here for business, not pleasure,” Cait leaned back in the seat, muscles bulging with the shift. “’There’s a meeting tomorrow at nine and the General requests our presence.’”

Preston’s lips twitched at Cait’s imitation of the General’s accent. “Should I be worried? They never voluntarily call a meeting before noon, let alone wake up before then when we aren’t on the road.”

“I’m just the messenger, but make sure you’re there or else they’re gonna stick me on gardening duty for the rest of the month.”

“With an incentive like that you make me want to skip it.”

“You do that and we’ll be having some words, Preston,” Cait’s voice held strong, but he saw a glint of apprehension in her eyes at the thought.

“All right, tomorrow at nine in the courtyard. I’ll be there.”

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Cait crowed. She snatched an apple off his desk and walked out of the room before he could even ask if she wanted it.

\--

Checking his uniform was in order one last time, Preston took off for the courtyard. The suddenness of the meeting summoned more worry than curiosity out of him, seeing as the last time they were called this early was due to an emergency. Because apparently running out of pears was a cause for alarm.

Yet, as dutiful as ever, he trusted the General’s reasons were more important than a lack of pears. He hoped.

Before he had even cracked open the wooden doors leading to the courtyard halfway, an excited scream of ‘happy birthday’ rang out. 

“Seriously Strong, you couldn’t wait till he had fully opened the door?” Hancock griped. Preston blinked in response—not that they could see—barely moving to open the door further.

“Strong was too excited.” The mutant looked sheepish at that. Or constipated. It was hard to tell with him.

“Let’s try again shall we?” The General offered, before a second ‘happy birthday’ rung out.

Preston fully opened the door at that, squinting as he adjusted to the light. “What?”

“Your birthday, March 10.” Curie piped up from where she was nestled against Cait’s side. 

“I-I know that, but… What?” Preston stammered, gaze moving from person to person. 

“Well, considering how we have more resources this year we decided to throw everyone’s favourite guy a party,” Piper beamed and stepped forward to thrust a fraying box into his limp hands. “Here, open it, this is mine obviously.”

“Uh,” Preston replied thoughtfully.

“Oh no, don’t thank me too much. It is truly my pleasure to give you a gift.”

“Thank you.” Preston’s brain had managed to reboot and allow normal thought to occur. “Piper, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Duh, I know I didn’t have to. Is it so hard to believe I care about you, big guy?”

“Yes.” Hancock offered, nudging her out of the way to place a parcel on top of the box. “Happy birthday, kid. This is from me and the tin man.” Hancock patted his shoulder before sauntering back over to where Nick was pretending to eat pears, much to Shaun's delight.

“Thank you,” Preston called after him, struggling to balance the two before others came to drop more gifts on him.

“Alright, I’m next,” Deacon announced, pushing past a very awkward looking MacCready. “Now, you are totally gonna love this gift, it shoots more than five lasers at once. I know, a lot to take in, but courtesy of yours truly to you’s truly.”

\--

After the frenzy of gifts and birthday wishes, Preston managed to make his way past a group of fresh-faced recruits to where the General was cutting a large cake, showing Shaun how important it was to ensure everyone gets the same slice size lest the Showdown of 2289 happens again.

“Preston!” Shaun shouted, causing the General to startle and cut a smug-looking Hancock a larger piece than intended.

“No refunds or returns,” Hancock called before practically running off with his slice.

“Hey Shaun, enjoying the party?” Preston smiled, ruffling the kid’s hair.

“I should ask you that, how are you enjoying the party?”

“It is great, I am really surprised by all this and that the General managed to organise this in a day.”

“Hey,” they snapped, pointing the frosting-covered knife at Preston. “I am totally responsible and organised.”

“The Showdown of 2289 where you and Deacon almost started a settlement-wide fist fight in Diamond City over a bowl of noodles,” he deadpanned.

“Hey, Takashashi totally gave Deacon more noodles! Plus they aren’t just any bowl of noodles, they are like the only noodles,” they flubbed. “Look I am totally not fighting with you over this because my authority totally makes me right.”

He raised his arms in mock surrender. “Anyways, I am surprised you even remembered about it.”

“You think I spend all that time on my Pip-Boy just playing Tetris? I keep track of people’s birthdays. Even Deacon’s.”

Deacon let out a bark of a laugh from halfway across the courtyard. “Deacon isn’t even my real name.”

“Whatever Caillou. Go back to looking like a forty year old dad on vacation,” the General called back. “Anyways, I always keep track of things. Especially about people who I care about.”

“So that new rifle last year…”

“Totally me. Well, Sturges helped too, he mostly just made mean comments about my duct taping skills before taking over.”

Preston’s expression softened at that, heart swelling with an emotion he’d rather not name. “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

“Baba, you are blushing!” Shaun piped up, face suspiciously covered in frosting.

“Shaun, why don’t you go show Danse all the ways you can bother him?” The General begged, looking acutely uncomfortable. The kid scowled up at them before scampering off and launching himself at the unsuspecting ex-paladin. 

“So, what's my gift this year?” Preston asked, smile playing on his lips as he crowded them against the serving table.

The General let out a wheeze. “I was thinking maybe the two of us could get dinner together at Power Noodles, the best noodles ever, just the two of us?”

“Like a date?”

“I mean if you want. I, uh, want that. The date idea, I mean not just that. I want other things, too, but the date would be a good start.”

“I’d like that. I’d also like to kiss you if that’s okay.”

“Totally, one-hundred percent okay. You didn’t really need to ask, you could’ve just, y’know, gone for it.” At the look of fond exasperation on Preston’s face, they blushed harder. “Right, shutting up now, using these lips to smooch the lights out of you and not incriminate myself further.”

Preston leaned forward and slots their lips together, the contact nothing more than innocent press. Well, until Hancock had let out a wolf whistle and Deacon chanted something very much not PG-13. 

Preston pulls back with a sigh, resting their foreheads together, allowing their breath to mingle together.

“Best birthday ever?” They murmured, lips brushing against his with every word.

“Best birthday ever.”

 

+Bonus

Deacon almost jack-knifed out of his bed with the force of his nightmare. The image of a bald child and his piercing laughter caused his heart to beat painfully fast and blood to rush to his ears. He desperately kicked off his sheets, the sweat covering his skin making the job harder; he barely suppressed a shiver as the chill March air bit at his heated skin.

"What the fuck is a Caillou?"

**Author's Note:**

> i know. "us" is still a wip for now, please be gentle.


End file.
